


A Matter of Trust

by SPowell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aquaphobia, Aurors in training, Dirty Talk, Hate Sex, M/M, slight humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SPowell/pseuds/SPowell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Draco and Harry don't get their act together, they won't be aurors. Bill sends them to a trust seminar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. 
> 
> Warnings: I usually write bottom!Draco, but this somehow wound up being bottom!Harry with less detailed switching. Dirty talk. Hate sex without real hate—closer to angry sex. Fear of water. Slight humiliation.
> 
> Prompt #40 Bill Weasley is sick of his two apprentices completely ignoring each other instead of collaborating. So he sends them off on a retreat together to bond. I changed it slightly to have Kingsley making Bill train them to be auror partners.

A Matter of Trust

By spowell

 

“That’s it!” Bill’s face is redder than his hair. “All you do is bicker!” He looks between Harry and Draco, exasperation showing in every line of his face and body. “I can’t work with you two.”

“I’m trying,” Harry says, because he is. Sort of. He’s still distracted by the last insult Malfoy— _Draco_ —threw at him. He’s supposed to call him _Draco,_ because Bill said so, and Kingsley Shacklebolt put Bill in charge of them in the auror training program.

“You two are either ignoring one another or at each other’s throats.” Bill’s face is now something closer to puce. “Don’t you get it? You can’t be proper aurors if you can’t work with each other! One day, the two of you will be out there in the field, and one of you will get into trouble. You will to have trust the other to get you out. Bad blood between the two of you cannot exist, because it will get one or both of you killed!”

Draco and Harry’s eyes meet, and they both quickly look away.

“Or maybe you two don’t want to be aurors,” Bill says, eyes narrowing as he studies first Harry, and then Draco.

For several seconds, their breathing seems very loud in the otherwise quiet room; and then suddenly as if a dam breaks, both Harry and Draco begin talking at once.

“Oh, I definitely want to, Bill—“

“All I’ve ever wanted is to be a--“

“Enough!” Bill shouts, bringing both men to silence. Harry is a bit startled at Bill’s transformation—he used to be so even-tempered.

“If you really want it, then you will be willing to do what I say. Why the hell Shacklebolt wants the two of you partnered is beyond me, but he does. I must have done something terrible to be put to the task of dealing with you. Now, are you going to cooperate, or am I going to tell Shacklebolt neither one of you is fit to be an auror?”

Harry and Draco both nod.

“We’ll do better,” Harry says, and Draco quietly agrees.

“Good, then. I’ll owl you your instructions tonight. For now, go home.”

“What?”

“But, why…”

“You just said you were willing to do whatever I say, so do it!”

Harry and Draco return to their respective homes, and the following day they are taken to an exclusive hotel somewhere in Scotland to attend a three-day seminar on trust. Not only do they have to sit through classes, but they also have to share a room, which Harry thinks unusually cruel. He can’t even have a moment to himself at the beginning or the end of the day without those silvery-grey eyes on him.

Harry takes the bed closest to the window, which brings a sneer from Draco.

“Of course you would take the best bed.”

“Yours is near the bathroom,” Harry points out. “Some people would think that’s the best bed.”

“Only if they’re eighty with bladder control problems.” Draco stands with his feet apart, body stiff, buttocks tight—Harry has noticed this stance more than once, particularly when Draco has his wand out and is about to cast. He realises his eyes are all over Draco’s body, and he turns away, ignoring Draco until time to go downstairs.

In the first class, the participants are told to partner up to play a game. Draco stands behind Harry, who is to fall backward, trusting Draco to catch him.

When the instructor, Mary, says “Go,” Harry obediently crosses his arms over his chest and falls like one of those Muggle dominos. The crash when he hits the floor is loud in the room.

“You were supposed to catch me, you tosser!” Harry rubs the back of his head and looks up at Draco.

“Oh, was I? I misunderstood.” Draco’s smirk sends Harry’s blood pressure through the roof.

“He did that on purpose!” Harry scrambles to his feet and points at Draco with his wand. “He stepped back and let me fall!”

“Just a miscommunication,” Draco says. “I’ll do better next time.”

“The next time, I’ll not be catching _you_!”

“Now, Harry, Draco, let’s take this down a notch, please,” Mary says. “Harry, please put the wand away. The road to trust does not consist of pulling our wands on each other.”

“Does it consist of letting the other fall to the hard wood floor?” Harry presses his hands to his throbbing lower back, and Draco snickers.

That night, Harry turns away from Draco and stares out the window at the moon, wishing he was anywhere but there.

“You snore,” Draco says at the breakfast buffet the following morning.

“I do not.”

“You do. You kept me up all night with your wheezing nose.”

“Well, you mumble in your sleep!”

“Malfoys do not mumble in their sleep.”

“You do. You talk about your stuffed dragon.”

“Liar!” Draco starts up from his seat, but when he sees the attention he’s drawing, he settles back again. “Let’s just eat and get on with this.” Draco has chosen something off the buffet that looks a lot like gruel. Harry shrugs and turns his attention to his bacon, eggs, and croissants.

In class that afternoon, the partners are instructed to tell one another something they’ve never told anyone else. Determined to do things right, because Harry really does want to be an auror, even if he has to partner with Draco Malfoy, he takes a deep breath and goes first.

“I slept in a cupboard.” Harry blushes. He has never admitted that to anyone, even Ron.

“What in the world for?” Draco frowns.

“Not because I wanted to, you bloody prat! My aunt and uncle made me.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Draco looks unsure.

“Well? What about you? What have you never told anyone before?” Harry leans forward.

Draco shrugs and looks down at his hands where they are clasped on the table.

“There must be something.”

Draco frowns. Clears his throat.

“Well, there is one thing.” His voice is quiet, and Harry holds his breath, waiting.

“The Dark Lord…”

“Voldemort.”

“Yes.” Draco’s hands whiten as he squeezes them, long fingers wrapped around one another. “He…he used to come into my room at night and…and… touch me.” Harry stares in horror as Draco looks away. Harry thinks Draco’s lip quivers.

“He did _what?_ Really? Draco, that’s terrible. Um…do you want me to get some tissues?” Harry scoots his chair closer and pats Draco’s shoulder, unsure of what else to do.

Draco’s mouth moves again, and this time it’s more of a quirk. Definitely a quirk. Harry’s ire rises like a blaze of fiend fire.

“You bastard! You lied!”

“Well, I couldn’t think of anything.” Draco’s full-on laughing now, and Harry gives him a swift kick to the shin under the table. “Ouch! That hurt, you wanker!” Draco snorts. “Imagine…the Dark Lord coming to my bedroom…” He laughs harder, holding his stomach.

The instructor, Mary again, comes over with a put-upon look and stands, hands on hips.

“What is going on here? Why are you two acting like small children rather than the twenty-something-year-old men you are?”

“He lied about his part! And now the arse is laughing at me!” Harry sits scowling, arms folded over his chest.

“He’s so gullible.” Draco wheezes and wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes.

“I’ve had it with the two of you. Get into my office.” Mary turns abruptly and stalks out of the dining room.

“In trouble, just like you always were at school,” Draco says as they follow her.

“An arse, just like _you_ always were at school! Except now you’re even more of one, and believe me, I never thought that possible--”

Mary stands at the door of her temporary office, waiting, and then slams it behind them and orders them to sit.

She walks to the small desk in the corner of the room, opens a drawer, and takes something out.

“I want you each to take a sip of this.”

“Veritaserum?” Harry asks.

“What for?” Draco frowns.

“Because you aren’t cooperating or being truthful.”

“I am!” Harry objects. “It’s Draco who let me fall when he was supposed to catch me and just lied about his secret!”

“I couldn’t think of anything!”

Mary drums her fingers on the table.

“All right, then. Draco, you drink.”

Draco looks like he’s about to unleash a few choice words on Mary, and Harry interrupts.

“If she tells Bill you aren’t cooperating, you’ll be out of the auror program. Maybe we both will, because Shacklebolt wants us together.”

Draco stifles whatever caustic thing he was going to say, tips the bottle of Veritaserum, and swallows it all.

“Fine.” Draco’s grey eyes shine with annoyance along with the bitter taste of the serum.

“All right, then.” Mary smiles. “I want you to tell Harry what you’re most afraid of.”

Draco looks like he’d rather die a thousand deaths than tell Harry anything. Harry can see him trying not to open his mouth, but in the end, the Veritaserum wins out.

“Water. I’m afraid of the water.” Draco fairly spits the words out.

“There we go,” Mary smiles, looking triumphant. She moves toward the door. “So, on to the swimming pool, then.”

Draco’s face blanches.

“It’s the truth…I really don’t like water. I’m telling the truth!”

“Oh, I believe you,” Mary says.

“Then why…You can’t make me go there!” Draco looks frantic, and Harry can’t help but feel a little sorry for him.

“Yes, I can, if you want to stay in the program. Not to worry—your partner won’t let anything happen to you. Will you, Harry?”

Harry shakes his head. Draco looks so completely terrified of the prospect of going near water, Harry’s stomach clenches in sympathy.

“I won’t, Draco,” he promises. “It will be fine.”

Draco refuses to look at Harry as they make their way to the pool and change into bathing suits, Draco moving like someone who’s going to stand before the executioner’s wand. Mary waits at the side of the Olympic-sized swimming pool and tells Harry to get in first.

“What?” Draco turns to Mary. “You’re actually going to make me _get in_?”

“Hence the bathing suit.” Mary smiles, and Harry thinks she’s getting far too much pleasure out of this. Harry hates Draco, and even he doesn’t want to make him get into the water. Draco, very much an adult and quite striking in his black bathing trunks, looks a bit like a child at that moment as he backs away from the pool, eyes wide and hands shaking.

Draco was brought up pampered and unaccustomed to having to deal with fear, which produced the whiny coward Harry dealt with during their Hogwarts years. Then came Voldemort into the Malfoy household, and Draco learned. As an adult, Draco is a far-cry from what he used to be. Harry’s witnessed Draco’s bravery and skill with the wand many times during group training and doesn’t have any qualms about Draco being his partner, except for the fact that the two of them can’t seem to get along. Watching Draco struggle with the idea of getting into the pool, there’s no doubt in Harry’s mind that Draco is truly terrified of water.

Mary holds out her hand for him to take.

Draco looks from Mary to Harry and back again.

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “Draco, look at me. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Draco scowls, pushes past Mary, and sits on the edge of the pool, wincing as his feet and then his calves go into the water. Closing his eyes, he hops in, then turns and clutches at the side like he’s drowning, even though the water only reaches his waist. Harry eases in after him.

“Let Harry lead you into the deeper water,” Mary says.

“No…nononono. I’m fine right where I am.”

“Does he really have to do this?” Harry asks. “I mean, it’s obvious he’s terrified.”

“Yes, and he’s going to trust you to keep him safe. That’s what all this is about—trust.”

“I already trust him,” Draco babbles, eyes squeezed shut as if not being able to see the water will make it go away altogether. “Now let’s go back inside, and I’ll tell him all about how I wet my pants when I was five. I haven’t told anyone else that, honest I haven’t!”

Harry moves forward and puts a hand on Draco’s shoulder, which is cold with fear. He runs his hand over the soft skin. The muscles in Draco’s back are bunched with tension, but after a moment of stroking, they ease a bit.

“Slowly turn around. Come on, Draco. The water’s not deep right here.”

Harry can feel Draco trembling, and it’s so far removed from the haughty git he’s used to, it takes away any remaining scrap of desire to humiliate him.

Draco’s breathing as though he’s just run circles around the pool rather than walked ten feet to dip into it. Excruciatingly slowly, he turns around, one hand still gripping the side. Harry holds out his arms.

“Come on, now. You can hold onto me.”

Harry means for Draco to grab his arm, but suddenly Draco’s a limpet clinging to Harry like he’s the only rock within miles.

“Er, that’s it.”

Draco's legs are wrapped around Harry’s waist, his arms practically strangling the breath from Harry’s throat. Harry can feel Draco’s heart against his chest, an alarmingly fast staccato thrumming next to Harry’s slow and rhythmic beat. Bringing his arms up to encircle Draco, Harry carefully takes a step back until the water is up to his chest and halfway up Draco’s back. He hopes Draco won’t make any sudden moves and drown them both.

“It’s fine, really. You’re fine. I won’t let you go no matter what, I promise.” Harry steps back again, and Draco clings harder, a whimper escaping his throat.

Harry wraps Draco tightly in his arms so that each palm presses to Draco’s ribs on the opposite side.

“You do trust me, don’t you, Draco?”

A few seconds tick by and then Draco nods into Harry’s shoulder.

“Good.”

When the water’s almost up to their necks, Draco begins shaking like a crup in a thunderstorm, but he doesn’t say anything.

“That’s fine,” Mary calls to them. “Just stay there for a few moments. You all right, Draco?”

Draco nods again, and turns his face into Harry’s neck. When Harry feels hot tears slide down his skin, he decides enough is enough. He begins moving toward the shallow end.

“That’s it,” he says. “We’ve tortured him enough.”

“It’s not about torture, Harry, it’s--”

“I know, I know, but it’s over.”

Draco brings his feet to the floor and makes for the ladder, pulling himself out of the water and racing into the dressing room like Dementors are at his heels.

“Just for the record,” Harry says, grabbing a towel. “I think that was a really shitty thing to do.” He walks away, leaving Mary staring after him.

Back in the room, Draco has locked himself in the bathroom.

Harry dries himself more thoroughly, hangs his swim trunks on the balcony railing, and puts on a pair of soft cotton underpants. He pours a drink from the honors bar.

“Would you like a scotch?” he calls into the bathroom.

There’s no answer. Harry reclines on the bed.

Harry half expects Draco to stay in there and pout, but a moment later Draco opens the door, face stormy.

“Did you put her up to that?” He stands over Harry, wearing only his black underpants and looking like an avenging angel, half-dry blond hair fluffed about his reddened face.

“Of course not! I thought it was bloody awful and told her so.”

“You didn’t stop her from doing it.”

Harry set his glass on the table and sat up.

“I should have. I’m sorry.”

Draco’s anger melts, and he sinks onto the edge of his bed.

“But I do think it might have been effective.”

Draco’s eyes flare, and his lips tighten.

“Oh, you do, do you? I suppose it felt really good to see me sniveling like I did as a boy. I spend years overcoming fear and somehow this woman comes up with the one thing that will completely undo me. How do you suppose that happened, Potter?”

“It’s Harry, remember? And she knew because you took the Veritaserum and told her, you twat!” Harry swings his legs off the bed and stands.

“And why is that? Did you tell her to give it to me?”

“You know very well I didn’t!” Harry heads for the door, glancing about for his trousers. “I don’t have to put up with this!”

“Don’t you bloody walk away from me, you tosser! Just because you’re the bloody savior of the bloody wizarding world doesn’t bloody give you the right to take advantage of everyone else. Ever since day one, you’ve pranced about like you’re all that--”

“Pranced about!” Harry turns, fists clenched at his sides to find Draco only feet away. White, hot anger courses through him and his magic stirs restlessly. “I don’t _prance_ anywhere, you fucking fucktwat!”

“Oh, good one, Potter. Show off that fabulous vocabulary of yours, why don’t you.”

“Shut it, Malfoy!”

“It’s Draco, remember?” Draco’s voice drips sarcastic sweetness.

Burning with anger, Harry reaches out with both hands and pushes Draco backward. It feels bloody good. He does it again, and again.

“Stop pushing me, you arrogant, grandstanding, egomaniacal oaf!” Draco starts to push back, but Harry grabs his wrists and forces him onto the bed, straddling him.

“I think you need to shut up, Malfoy. I’m tired of listening to you.”

“Just because you want something doesn’t mean it has to happen, you poncy little piece of troll shit! Get off me! And it’s _Draco,_ remember?” Draco’s so angry, his normally pale complexion is a dark, mottled red. As he bucks up, trying to unseat Harry, Harry presses back down, anger making him want to be cruel. At that moment, he doesn’t really care if they are kicked out of the auror program. How Shacklebolt ever thought they would make good partners, he doesn’t know.

“Get off and stop squeezing me with your overly-muscular troll thighs!” Draco struggles, slim hips wiggling between Harry’s legs.

And then Harry feels it—Draco’s erection. As soon as the long length of it brushes Harry’s cock, Harry is immediately rock hard. Looking down at Draco, bare chest heaving and eyes blazing, Harry suddenly knows what he wants.

“I’ll make it happen. I’ll make you shut that obnoxious gob of yours.” He leans down and smashes his mouth against Draco’s—hard—forcing Draco’s lips apart with the intensity of the kiss.

Harry still has Draco’s wrists pinned to the bed, and every movement Draco makes to try to get Harry off him only brings their raging hard-ons more intensely together. When Draco spreads and raises his knees, trying to push Harry off that way—or maybe, impossibly, trying to bring their cocks into closer contact, Harry slides upward an inch. Suddenly his arse is pressed to Draco’s hard cock, and he’s able to feel every inch of it through their thin cotton pants. A shiver of desire simultaneously runs from Harry’s toes upward and his head downward, meeting in the middle and turning Harry’s cock into a solid pole of throbbing desire.

At that moment, Draco begins to return Harry’s kiss, tongue tangling with Harry’s and finger’s clutching at Harry’s back.

Harry lifts his head and their eyes meet. Draco’s lips are red and puffy and his eyes burn with something that makes Harry’s breath hitch in his throat. Slowly, gaze never leaving Harry’s, Draco undulates his hips, dragging his hardness over Harry’s crack, and Harry can’t hold back his moan of pleasure. He’s dizzy with it, every muscle in his body melting like butter in the sun.

Grabbing the waistband of Harry’s pants, Draco yanks, and Harry obligingly lifts up enough to let Draco slip them off first one knee and then the other.

Draco lifts his head and presses his mouth to Harry’s neck, sucking a love bite there before nibbling all the way up to Harry’s jawline. Harry shivers and pinches Draco’s fucking hot little nipples until they’re twin peaks of swollen flesh, listening to Draco’s soft grunts of pleasure. Harry slides his cock and arse over and over the bulge in Draco’s pants in a slow, undulating rhythm that quickly has them both out of breath. Judging by the way Draco bucks like a dragon, he likes all of it.

Wanting to get rid of the last barrier between them, Harry pulls at Draco’s pants, and when they’re off, leans in and kisses Draco again, long and wet, biting at his lips none too gently.

“I’m going to fuck you,” Draco says into the kiss. Harry can feel the tip of Draco’s cock brushing his hole, and presses back in answer.

“Fine, but after you do, I’m going to fuck you. Get you on your knees and mount you like a wild thestral. Wrap my hands in that bitch-white hair and ride you for the border.”

Draco’s sinful moan brings a drop of wetness to Harry’s cock head.

“Accio lube.” A tube flies from Draco’s bag into his hand.

With slickened fingers, Draco coaxes Harry open. He isn’t particularly gentle, but Harry doesn’t want him to be; he’s panting and sweating and ready to have all seven or eight inches of that fine pureblood cock shoved into him. He pushes his face into Draco’s neck, tonguing the soft skin there while Draco shoves three fingers into him.

“You’re going to take all of me.” Draco twists his fingers, and Harry cries out in agreement.

“Enough.” Harry finally says, and pushes himself down on Draco’s cock, popping the head in and then the rest, inch by delicious inch, until Draco’s eyes almost cross in his head.

“Like it, do you?” Harry twists his hips just to hear Draco cry out. Regaining his senses, Draco grabs the headboard above and bucks upward, bringing an answering yell from Harry.

“I’d say _you_ like it. Feel my big cock up your arse, Potter?” Draco hits Harry’s prostate with dead-on precision, making Harry squirm and whimper. “Big bad savior likes the Death Eater’s cock spreading him open?”

Harry grinds down onto Draco, and Draco thrusts up into Harry, each drawing curse words and groans of pleasure from the other.

“Just wait until I plow your arse, Malfoy,” Harry pants, bouncing forcefully on Draco’s cock. He likes the way they’ve reverted to last names; it reminds him that they’re old school rivals, and it’s hot as hell. “You won’t be able to walk for a week. You’re going to…to hold onto that headboard and take it.”

“Promises…ahhh-oh, Salazar! …promises.” Draco plants his feet on the mattress and fucks up into Harry like a jackhammer, and Harry can only hold on for the ride. “Look at your prick, Potter. It’s pointing straight at me, flapping like a mad thestral.”

“Gonna come all over your face, you wanker.”

“You do that. I’ll lick every bit of it off.”

Harry moans at the picture that paints. Sweat drips down his face onto his chest, and his thigh muscles scream with exertion. Draco must be tired, but he keeps hammering into Harry like a man possessed, making Harry quiver with need.

Harry stiffens as the first signs of impending explosion wash through him and tightens his arse muscles around Draco while tugging fiercely at his nipples, digging his nails into them. Draco throws his head back and howls, and Harry swears he can feel Draco’s tide of spunk coating his insides.

“Merlin’s ball-sack!” Harry yells and wraps his hand around his cock, aiming for Draco’s face. He pumps hard, arching his back, and splatters Draco’s cheeks, nose, chin with pulse after pulse of white spunk. Draco digs his fingernails into Harry’s hips and opens his mouth, swallowing every bit he can catch.

When Draco regains his breath, he licks Harry’s spunk off his lips and chin like it’s the finest white chocolate.

“I am going to fuck you,” Harry says hoarsely as he watches. Slowly, he eases off Draco and falls onto the bed, heart still beating wildly.

“Sure, fair is fair.” Draco sounds spent. “But I think you’re the natural bottom here.”

Harry opens one eye. “Me? No, that would be you.”

“You’re the one who climbed on me and rubbed your arse all over me. Besides, I’m a former Death Eater. Death Eaters don’t bottom.”

“And the Savior of the Wizarding World does?” Harry arches a brow. “You were always the submissive at heart, Malfoy.”

Malfoy sneers.

“You’re the bleeding heart. I’m a bad-arse Slytherin. It only makes sense that you bottom and I top.”

“I’m the conquering Gryffindor. I top. Besides, you’re too pretty to be a natural top, and I’m too hairy to be a natural bottom.”

“You’re shorter, hence bottom.”

“You’re blond, hence bottom.”

After a moment of silence, Draco asks, “Aren’t these kind of stereotypes?”

“Yeah.” Harry laughs.

“Good thing we aren’t going to pay attention to them.”

Harry’s smile becomes sly.

“Right. You pounded my arse, I’ll pound yours. A pound for a pound.”

So Harry fucks Draco just the way he promised, with Draco hands clutching the headboard and Harry mounting him from behind. Later, Draco fucks Harry out on the balcony. Then Harry fucks Draco in the shower, and Draco fucks Harry on a chair in front of the mirror, one hand plucking at Harry’s nipples and the other fondling his balls while Harry watches himself come apart.

Harry fucks Draco in the elevator on the way to the lobby to check out, and when the doors open, they run straight into fucking Mary.

“Looking a bit disheveled,” she says, eyes running over them.

“Yeah, well, busy morning,” Harry says.

“About yesterday…”

“It’s all right.” Draco holds up his hand. “Perhaps we got something out of this experience after all.”

“Glad to hear it. You're not leaving, are you? There's still one more seminar.”

"I don't think we'll be needing that," Harry says, lifting his hand in a wave. Mary watches them walk toward the check-out counter and sees Draco’s hand slip from Harry’s waist to his arse.

Her mouth drops open, but then she smiles.

 

 

\--END--

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have some original m/m stories coming out. If you are interested in ordering, here is my website: http://rjames201581.wix.com/rebecca-james  
> It will be updated as more of my stories are released.


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